I slam the Saab’s door behind me and run up the steps of our red brick colonial, the steps where I fell chasing Paige and busted my lip when I was four. I keep my head straight so that I don’t have to look directly at the Century 21 sign.
I unlock the door and then relock it behind me, remembering Daddy’s warning, and run upstairs to my bedroom. I need to take a shower before my parents get home. Need to get rid of the evidence.
“Where have you been, young lady?”
It isn’t the words so much as the surprise that halts me in my tracks and makes my heart nearly stop. What is she trying to do to me after Daddy already scared me with his talk of crazy people? Paige is lying on my bed filing her nails. She blows on them and smiles at me.
“Out.” Crap. She knows I’m grounded. She could get me into serious trouble.
“Oh, Parker, I invented the ‘out’ line. Can’t you do better than that?”
“Not really. With a big sister like you it’s hard to really be original.” She smiles like this is the world’s biggest compliment, and I have to admit, she knew how to handle Mom and Dad. She never got grounded indefinitely, and she was a million times worse than me. If her goal was to freak me out, then she succeeded, but that last kiss is still throbbing through me, and I just don’t care about my silly vain sister right now.
“I have to say, those handcuffs were original.” She stops talking but keeps filing. Then, “Your boyfriend thought of that, huh?”
“Yeah. Paige”—I still do not want to discuss this with her—“um, I didn’t see your car.”
“West dropped me off. He’s going to pick me up after the game, that way we can drive home together. He’s watching football with Joe and Tyler.”
“Very romantic.” I roll my eyes and then change the subject. “Hey, when do your college classes start?” College students, I’ve learned, have much longer breaks than us poor overworked high school students. Paige is supposed to be taking classes in communication or public speaking or something. Mom and Dad say she has no idea what she is doing with her life, but they want her to have a college degree anyway. Mom always tells us that at least Paige settled down with a nice boy. She doesn’t seem settled to me, but what do I know?
“A week or two.” She scrunches her forehead up. I don’t think she knows. Paige isn’t much on academics. Mom had to go with her to help her register for classes last summer.
“West was here today borrowing cheese and stealing our ketchup. He says he might trade in your car.” I’m wondering how she will get to school. The campus is all the way across town, and there’s no way she would take a bus or anything like that.
“West wants a nicer car, like a BMW or something.”
I glare at her. I’m the sister who doesn’t even have a car, who would never, never scorn the Volkswagen, if I were lucky enough to have a car like that. “But West is loaded, right? Why can’t he just buy a BMW if he wants one?” And they can just give me the Volkswagen if they don’t love it anymore.
“West’s family is loaded, but they have this thing about making your own way in the world. It totally pisses West off that they won’t help us get a house. He doesn’t like living in an apartment.” She shakes her head and I can tell she doesn’t want to think about any of it. She’s always ignored anything stressful or negative. I’m the one who can’t stop worrying; she’s the one who can’t be bothered even with mild concern.
“Hey, is this my comforter, the one from my bedroom?” The room that our parents keep exactly the way she left it?
“Yeah, I’ve been trying to tone down the pink princess theme in here.”
“Good idea. This is such a little-girl room, especially the canopy bed.” She laughs. I don’t much like her making fun of my Disney Princess–style room. Really, it isn’t officially Disney. As in, I don’t have any licensed products. It’s just pink and frilly with a canopy bed. You know, the type of things parents buy for their young daughters.
“Do you remember . . . ?” she begins, and I know where she is going. Disney World, when I was seven. It was one of the big happy family trips we took with the Henessys. Mrs. Henessy arranged for all us girls to have breakfast with the Princesses. Mr. Henessy and Dad had taken Kyle deep-sea fishing or something equally manly, so it was just Paige, Marion, and me. We had these little autograph books that we were supposed to get the characters to sign.
My mom handed me my book and this great big pen with a feather on the end of it. A quill. Paige and Marion got identical pink books, but Mom got me a yellow one that had Cinderella on the cover. I guess she did that so Paige and I could tell them apart, but I wished I had the glossy pink book too.
I remember being superexcited in that giddy way that you get when you’re really little. Then the Princesses came in, and they were all beautiful, and I looked down at my plate and wouldn’t look up. Marion and Paige had a great time getting all the Princesses to sign their autograph books, but the only one I got was the Little Mermaid, and that was because she felt sorry for me and came over and signed even though I wouldn’t look at her.
I hate the word shy. I don’t ever use that word. Shy was what I was when I was seven and my one Princess signature got smeared across the pastel yellow page because I dripped tears all over it, because I was afraid and couldn’t lift my head no matter how much I wanted to. That’s how the shyness works. You want to talk, but you can’t. People look at you with scorn. Being an ice princess is infinitely better, even if some people think you’re a total bitch. A snob. Reserved. Those are choices a person makes, to be reserved, to be quiet, or to be a snob. Shy isn’t a choice.
“Remember what?” I know where she’s going but I don’t want to reminisce with her.
“Oh, just Disney and all the fun we had. Do you still have that dumb pink autograph book that you stole from me?”
“Paige, that was like ten years ago.”
“Remember you hid it under your dresser and Mom found it when she was vacuuming? But then you stole it again, didn’t you? It’s probably still in here someplace, and your room looks exactly the same.” She stretches out her fingers and admires her work with the emery board.
“There isn’t much point in changing it, is there? Not when we’re going to be moving soon,” I say. My voice is low and kind of shaky. She knows I hate talking about any of my episodes. That’s why she loves to bring them up. “I have to take a shower.” This conversation is over and I want her to leave.
“Yeah. You have hot tub stink all over you.”
“You would know.” Being a little sister totally impairs my ability to formulate a decent comeback. It’s sad. “Are you going to tell Mom and Dad?”
“That you snuck out and spent your afternoon with sexy-pants in some hot tub? Nah, but I think you’re in way over your head.” I know she’s probably right, but then, most of the time she acts like I’m still twelve years old.
“Probably.” I step into the shower. I hope she will get out of my room while I’m gone, but of course she just lies there getting tiny little nail pieces on my comforter.
I usually hang my bathrobe on the hook on the back of the door before I take a shower, but it isn’t there when I get out. Paige really distracts me sometimes.
I ignore her, still sitting there, as I drip my way to the closet wrapped in a lime green towel. Paige’s clothes were always in a haphazard heap. I keep mine hung neatly in the closet. Of course, her wrinkled clothes still looked completely hot on her. They always do.
“Damn.” I turn toward her, ready to hear some comment about how I fold my underwear and color-coordinate all my socks. “You really are growing up, aren’t you? No wonder sex-on-the-brain is so into you.”
“Whatever.” As usual, I blush, but I love her surprise. And more, I love the reluctant admiration that made her say it aloud.
Finally, I can tell she’s getting tired of tormenting me, and she stands up to leave my room when she hears the front door squeaking open and Preston shouting, “I’m home
!” at the top of his lungs.
“You got lucky, you know.” She looks at the clock on my nightstand. “If it were me, they’d have gotten home ten minutes ago.”
Yeah right, I’m so lucky and she’s unlucky. There are a million ways I could refute this, but she won’t listen, so I don’t say anything.
17
I’m drying my hair when Mom calls for me to come downstairs. She’s thrilled that Dad made it home in time for dinner. I’m thrilled that I made it home for dinner twenty minutes before they did. We used to eat dinner together all the time, before Dad lost his job and started sitting with the newspaper and circling things. Eventually he just moved with his paper to the living room to sit in front of the TV, and the rest of us started eating wherever we could find a comfortable place to sit.
I take a deep breath, relieved. I really did just get here in time. The realization that I could’ve been in deep, deep trouble right now makes the never-ending dinner experience easier to bear.
Dad is telling us about his job interview. “It’s just a delivery job, but it has management potential,” he says between bites of some kind of mushy casserole with crushed-up Doritos on top. I’ve been trying to skim the Doritos off the surface and avoid the greasy ground beef.
Preston is actually picking the Doritos off with his fingers. He sees what I’m doing and puts a couple of big Dorito chunks on my plate. Mom raises her eyebrows but she doesn’t say anything. The fact that Preston is sitting still at the table is unusual. I think it’s possible only because he’s focusing all that energy. While his body remains still his fingers are picking, picking, picking.
“Delivery?” Paige asks.
“Yeah, it’s kind of a boutique take on an old idea. You remember, Jane, how they used to deliver milk in the old days?”
“I guess.” Mom frowns. She wants to be supportive of Dad, but he’s just such an idiot sometimes, so trusting. You can see the frustration on Mom’s face.
“Well, this is sort of a special delivery service where you can preorder certain items and have them delivered regularly.”
Preston is sucking the orange cheese powder from the orange tips of his fingers. When he goes to put another choice bit on my plate, I block him with my fork and shake my head.
“Sounds like a good idea, Daddy.” Paige’s teeth gleam in the soft light of the dining room chandelier. She’s eating the casserole mush like it’s five-star cuisine. She really wants to get on Mom and Dad’s good side for some reason.
“I thought so too, sugar. Only problem is they haven’t started their business in this area. They’re actively looking for someone who can run the business and handle sales.”
“You did all that at your old job, Chris.” Mom is smiling, but she doesn’t really look happy.
“Exactly. I got the feeling I was exactly what they were looking for.”
“That’s great, Dad,” Paige says. I can’t help wondering if he’s exactly what they’re looking for because he was willing to listen to their spiel. And because he’s so close to being desperate. I sigh.
Mom glances at me, and then looks back at Dad. “So what’s the problem?” she asks. Her perfect eyebrows are almost up to her hair. Not a good sign for Dad and the lousy job he’s describing.
“What?” Dad rubs Dorito powder across his forehead. His hair is brown, and the overhead light shows how thin it’s getting. His white dress shirt is pushed up past his elbows, and his black pants have nice creases. The man for the job. How could those people not want to hire him?
“You said there was a problem.” Mom dips her napkin into her ice water and starts scrubbing the side of Preston’s face.
“There’s a start-up fee involved. An investment to get the business going. It’s more than we have, and possibly more than I have in my 401(k).”
“Well, something else will come along, Chris.” Mom wipes the Dorito residue from Dad’s forehead with the same napkin she used on Preston. At least she didn’t use spit to moisten it. Dad scrunches up his face.
“I’m still trying to think how we can manage it, but I don’t know.” He puts his elbows on the table. He sits there looking hopeful and pathetic at the same time, wanting to cash in his retirement money to pay to deliver milk and bread to suburbanites. It makes my heart hurt for him. You shouldn’t have to pay money to get a job, even I know that.
“Did you take Preston to the indoor amusement park?” he asks Mom after another long silence, changing the subject.
“He went with his day camp today,” Mom tells Paige, because I think I was supposed to know this already because she told me yesterday. “All those rambunctious kids, it reminded me of you. Do you remember, Chris, the first time we took Paige and Parker to Disney?”
“Parker and I were just talking about that trip.” Each of Paige’s smiles is even more dazzling than the last. Both parents turn toward her and look hopeful. They want Paige to hang out with me. They fantasize about their daughters being best friends. Even this little thing makes them hopeful. They want these things from us, but they only get them every once in a while from Paige. With her big smile and her sparkling blue eyes, she can fake interest in anything they want to talk about. That’s why she’s their favorite.
After a hesitation, when I guess he’s remembering, Dad chuckles and says, “Oh yeah, Paige was so excited when we went on the roller coaster, remember? She was whooping and hollering, and if I remember right, she peed in her pants. Parker just sat very still. She wouldn’t put her hands in the air, and she never laughed or even smiled. She just sat there with her little body shaking and her little mouth pressed into a line. It was so funny.”
“That trip was really nice,” Mom says. “It’s too bad about the Henessys.” She scoops up some dishes and carries them into the kitchen, and Dad follows her with some glasses.
“See?” Paige turns to me and smirks. “That’s why you should retain your precious virginity.”
“What?” She’s such a complete bitch, even if my parents don’t see it.
“If you can’t even let go and enjoy a roller coaster, how’re you going to manage an orgasm? Really, Parker.”
“At least I didn’t pee on myself. And how do you know I’m still a virgin?” I hiss this so that Mom and Dad won’t hear. I’m not an idiot.
Preston has his entire face in the Doritos bag now, crunching away at the little broken pieces that are always left on the bottom.
Paige gives me this big smile and hisses back, “Because your guy wouldn’t still be around if he’d already had you. Once he realizes you’re frigid, he’ll drop you and move on. Ice Princess.”
I pretend that I don’t care, but that last one hurt because that’s kind of what I’m afraid of. I know older people make that stuff up to scare you, those stories where a girl goes too far with a guy and then he takes off and never speaks to her again. But like all made-up stories, it’s probably based on some truth, and I figure the girl the legend is based on is probably someone exactly like me.
Paige and Marion gave me the nickname. Back when Marion lived next door and she was still trying to balance being my friend with worshipping Paige. That must’ve been hard for her. It was during summer vacation, and even though Paige was in middle school, Mom made her go next door when she was going to be gone all day. So Paige was sitting on Marion’s vanity stool painting her toenails. Marion found a picture in some book of this superthin dark-haired cartoon woman who had icicles for fingernails, high cheekbones, and an expression of cruel disdain. The pages after it were stuck together, so I never knew what part the ice princess played in the story. Whatever terrible fate or frog prince was waiting for her, I’m betting she didn’t rate a happily-ever-after. Paige was fascinated by the stupid thing.
I wasn’t sure at first whether I liked getting so much attention or not. Then I got a good look at Paige’s face and knew this was a bad thing that I wanted to be over. Like all their teasing, they’d get tired and forget about it when I didn’t respond.
“It was in a box of old books my mom keeps in the basement,” Marion told her.
Kyle came in wearing a too-tight Spider-Man undershirt and blushed bloodred when he saw Paige sitting there. I just sat quietly and waited to see if anyone was going to braid my hair. That was what we were doing before the whole dumb ice princess book was introduced. I guess that it should make me mad or something, but it’s been so long that I just can’t remember anything besides waiting to see if they were going to gossip with me about girl things, not knowing that the picture in the book would ever be important to me.
“Mom said to, um, ask you if you wanted to come downstairs. She said to come downstairs for a minute,” Kyle stammered. He was trying to look at Paige without letting her know he was staring and it got him all confused and nervous. Paige and Marion left the room, still laughing. I took a good long look at the ice princess. Other than the weird icicle fingernail thing, there were worse things you could be. A troll or a goblin, for example. The ice princess had very wide cold blue eyes.
“What does frigid mean?” Preston asks.
I give Paige the finger. It feels superbly awkward, sticking my middle finger up right there at the long rectangular table. I immediately wish I had thought of a less lame response. It’s kind of tough, though, because sometimes I worry that maybe I’ll freeze or do something wrong. You know, during an intimate moment. Obviously, ruining my self-esteem is Marion’s entire reason for existing, and Paige is always willing to do her part to make me feel like crap.
“It means ‘cold,’ honey,” Paige says.
I know I’m not frigid, because he can melt me completely, but I am always so nervous about losing control. What if my sister is right and I can’t relax enough? What if my mom is right and he only wants one thing?
18
Cinder block upon cinder block upon cinder block. That’s Allenville High to me. Faced with the criticism of being elitist, the school decided to officially stop painting. I guess they couldn’t hide the three computer labs, the state-of-the-art science and tech department, or the vast two-story library. So they haven’t even touched up the worn pea-green of the institutionalized hallway walls in the last decade.
Handcuffs Page 9